


A Graceful Beating in My Foreign Heart

by Afrou



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Slow Burn (Good Omens), Ancient Greece, Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Aziraphale learns how to understand and love yourself, Biblical Themes (Abrahamic Religions), Eventual Happy Ending, Falling In Love, Forbidden Love, I'm Sorry, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Multi, Psychological Drama, Romance, Self-Discovery, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Symbolism, god i promise i'll add some more historical periods, guys no kissing before the Armageddon't, i never thought it'd be so hard, too much quoting books, yes Aziraphale is the main character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:01:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25978636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Afrou/pseuds/Afrou
Summary: Did the existence always have such an outstanding color? At least the angel of the Eastern Gate thought that in the beginning everything around him was slate-black, motionless, and miserable. After a while he started to distinguish the tiniest shades of newborn cities, landscapes and even living creatures in order either not to die of boredom or to hide desperately from his thoughts and the constant questions: does he belong to Heaven with all his heart for real? What is better: to live for millennia under the iron cover or to be a sharp, passionate burning in the sky?Do all the questions need to be answered?
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Kudos: 1





	A Graceful Beating in My Foreign Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Good people, if you can help me with the tags/styling the text, be free to advise in the comments. I'm too new here.

Somewhere at the inception of the humanity

Comparing with Heaven, the Earth has always been full of colors. 

Either way, Aziraphale, angel of the Eastern Gate, can’t simply criticize Heaven – it was, it is, and it will be his home. His only and foremost beloved one. Hopefully, he doesn’t want to – he loves Heaven and respects his being here, but, alas! Some exceptions must have been made. He should tell the truth. The rightest of all truths. Is it really that bad to mention Heaven being much plainer than the Earth? Perhaps not.

Then Aziraphale starts again, imagining himself telling a story to a group of people – boredom, without a doubt, makes even the wisest ones look foolish, and he surely cannot name himself quite intelligent as there’s always more to learn. Well, actually, even though the atmosphere there is blissfully holy, and the echoes of the voices make him be fairly in awe, seeing barely white, pale white, pearl white and twinkling white lets him down. Never-ending halls and loads of paperwork, important but still boring, shining clothes, all similar, smiling faces of bosses and rooms for meetings have white shade. Probably Aziraphale may call himself a bad angel, irrepressible and vain (which is, obviously, a sin), but he would rather prefer sitting in the woods, chattering with the animals, watching sunrises and sunsets, and counting glimmering stars. Something that at least is colorful. He closes his eyes, wondering: here is Heaven, white and holy, here is the Earth, evergreen and relaxed. Well, the comparison is futile – it’s natural to love vacations more that your homeland, as it always seems perfect, this escape from ethereal routine, which still shakes a fist before your face and makes you remember it. Though Aziraphale likes to think his job on Earth is more like business trip, no matter that they haven’t been invented yet.

If staying on Earth is a business trip, then it’s surely a fantastic and adorable one, and the reason lays, as he has already told his silent and non-existing audience, in colors. In Heaven you won’t find such fast-running rivers with clean turquoise water – you can even catch sight of your blurred face in the reflection! – and outstanding multicolor fish swimming in the stream, golden, coral and aquamarine; no soil, either sand-like, that falls from your fingers when you take a handful, or fruitful coil-black, fat and messy; no charming evergreen forests and trees, that are so high that take the sun away from your sight, with the specific, acid smell of tar. When Aziraphale first learnt about something green and with leaves – it was when angels were creating Eden, - he fell surely and undoubtedly in love. And being able to stay in the woods as much as he wanted, relaxing in the cooling shadows and not running away from infuriate angels (“You would destroy this kind of berries! Begone!) was truly marvelous. Probably discovering about humans and their cities is almost as enchanting, but he was always a conservative angel. Maybe, later he will love humanity as much as nature now. Simply a question of time. Furthermore, the adoration for the Earth only grows, especially if you have had mixed feelings towards Heaven lately. Well, about staying in, not about… God, it even sounds ridiculous. Aziraphale shakes his head, as he really speaks with someone. “How could you think I doubt my homeland? Shame on you! I only feel loved and respected there. It’s just…the walls”.

One day the angel heard – if it wasn’t a kind of fantasy caused by especially complicated task when he closed his eyes and imagine himself somewhere else – his colleague speaking with another. They were furious and desperate, as all forces of Hell were trying to steal their souls, and they were about to lose this battle. Angels cried, shook hands, then looked at the sky and damned it in all terrifying words that ever existed. Aziraphale heard the unbelievable stories about Heaven being glorious, green, full of live, when all angels have meetings and all of them were able to share their opinion. No bosses, no paperwork – just pleasures in creating the Earth. And, what was terrifyingly fatuous, - after the Rebellion of fallen angels all the memories were erased and Metatron, Gabriel and their servants started to assure everyone else that it had always been like this. It sounded terrible, and Aziraphale ran away to his office in fear and doubt. No, it couldn’t be true – or everything he knew was a lie. So he wasn’t weird, it is natural to feel down in white stone walls? Aziraphale wanted to ask those angels, but suddenly they disappeared. In a couple of days Gabriel told them that «two of us Fell, tempted by inappropriate dreams and ended corrupting in sins». The angel could finally be free from his suspicions – those two were bad, and all they said is a lie from the beginning. However, he can’t make himself like Heaven more than the Earth. And not only because of colors.

When he first arrived in the garden of Eden, Aziraphale was bewitched by nature as well as lately on Earth. Trees as tall as they could touch the sky, dozens of different flowers – pale lilac roses, deep magenta azaleas, milk-white daises, small birds with sharp beaks and their sweet trills, delicious fruits beckoning to be eaten, gentle and demanding rays of sun, a night sky full of tiny golden, beige, scarlet stars – everything fascinated him. The angel spent hours and hours walking in the woods as he imagined, listening to the birds’ songs, and collecting plants in order to make wreaths of them. Perhaps, it wasn’t exactly what he deeply desired, but, at least, there were no paperwork. Aziraphale really enjoyed himself and was preparing to meet humans.

First of them was Adam. He was a stocky man with dark skin, short spiky hair and deep hazel eyes, his lips were always pursed as in deathly apathy and contempt, though at times he seemed as a quite pleasant one. Adam ate fruit and berries, but above all he enjoyed apples, swam in a fast-running river, and tried to hunt prey – just for fun. So daring, so careless!... How could he destroy Her gifts so easily? The angel didn’t like him quite much. Soon God sent Lilith, a future wife to Adam, and Aziraphale for the first time felt a kind of adoration – possibly not exactly the same feeling which caused him to study mysterious orchids, but something more about respect. 

Lilith was taller than Adam, skinny, with sharp fists and exquisite gait. Her flaming locks of hair almost touched her waist, her bronze eyes were like coriander, she seemed to be more heavenly than her husband. And, of course, Lilith was very welcome to talk with Aziraphale. He was over the moon. Nevertheless, when she first interrupted the angel’s speech about the «unbelievably good» weather and, slyly grinning, called her husband «a dumb nightmare on legs», his respect soon vanished – well, not because of Adam, he wasn’t actually intelligent, but because of her determination to be the only one who matters here, in Eden. Despite her beauty, Lilith wasn’t that charming to stay the object of Aziraphale’s thoughts, and he soon forgot her (with some regrets). Nonetheless, when he saw her casted from Eden by a lightning and become a demoness, the angel was shocked. He was even more shocked after Gabriel with calm and patient smile told him that Lilith refused to obey Adam and she would be rapidly replaced. Aziraphale didn’t think it was fair, but indigo eyes were so convincing as well as his words, that the angel stopped to show disobedience. Who knows, if the wife of the first man was changed, then she was obviously too corrupted, right? Respect coursed through his veins – Gabriel was so clever and could see the danger behind her charm, - and Aziraphale made himself not to think about poor Lilith – about terrible Lilith, about that wily demoness. 

Lastly, Eve appeared. She was…well, she was ordinary, a copy of Adam, with curly brown hair and big dark eyes. There wasn’t much about her, just a new toy for the first man. But it was obvious that Adam fell in love with his Eve, and these two together explored the forest and tried to repeat trills. Aziraphale felt responsible for humans, so he wasn’t relaxing – he was guarding, but he guarded Eden with boredom. Still, one day their simple peace was destroyed by a snake. Gabriel told him not to intervene, and Aziraphale obeyed. The angel saw a huge serpent with cunning yellow eyes enwinding around naive Eve, hissing something tempting, dangerous and yet fascinating. He saw her eating the forbidden fruit, he saw Adam eating it too, he saw the wrath of God and Her decision to cast them from Eden as one day Lilith. And then it was over.

Aziraphale knew it was too reckless. He knew he should have asked Gabriel first. Instead, probably hearing the echo of that gorgeous hissing, the angel ripped off the ripe claret apple and tried it. One bite was enough for him to became terrified and threw it away. Aziraphale cleaned his chin from the juice, moaned softly in pleasure, and sat under the tree of the knowledge. Wind shook his pale curls and made him calm. Well, he really didn’t see something bad about knowing between good and evil (but he would never admit it on pain of death). Poor people! Eve was expecting already, and the only thing that Aziraphale could possibly do – to give his flaming sword away. Behind the walls of Eden there were angry lions and other wild animals. Probably killing the first humans wasn’t the right thing. Anyway, everything was done, and the angel stood on the wall looking at the trembling figures in the sands.

The angel sighs. Whenever he does, all his thoughts come to this, even if he was trying to remember the colors of past. He looks around, sees the green palms, the shelter, and goes under them. It is getting too hot in there. How strange it is to have in mind walking hand in hand Adam and Eve and at the same time seeing their descendants, fussy and joyful, staying not in the sands but in the city, one of the busiest nevertheless one of the smallest. Well, this is live. What was he thinking?...

Oh, right. The wall. Why everything in his life should be so full of paradoxes? Boring white walls in Heaven, absolutely not boring and incredible stone walls in Eden…

As Aziraphale watched Adam and Eve leaving the Eden, he clutched his chubby palms in hesitance and numbness. The angel thought whether he had done the right thing, but nothing logical came to mind. Well, at least they had protection, so it should be a good thing. And…Then he was interrupted by a rustle and a hiss. Aziraphale looked back and saw the serpent who seduced Eve. The snake was crawling to the wall from crunching emerald bushes, its skin ebony and ruby. All his sense organs should have had the alarm, he must have run away, but the angel was perfectly still. He wasn’t afraid at all, like it was an ordinary butterfly. He even wanted to come closer and study it, but, thank goodness, he didn’t, because the serpent straightened up and started to transform to a human. Well, not a human. A demon. 

Aziraphale shuddered and blinked twice, looking for a weapon. Oh, if only had he the flaming sword!... He saw demons one day, and it wasn’t pleasant. They were deathly dangerous, evil, sly, and cruel. Gabriel always told him that they easily get to angels’ mind, find their deepest desires, and hunt them like a prey. This was the reason why angels ought not to have any wants. But this demon…he surely wasn’t going to attack. He was too well-rested for that. Aziraphale inspected his appearance. Tall, a head taller than he is, a slim figure, clothing in black, elegant slim arms, long curly burning-red hair, a cunning smirk on thin lips. And eyes. His serpentine amber eyes. They fixed at him and watched every slightest movement. They inspected the angel in return, going along his white arms, pale blue eyes, ivory curls. Aziraphale didn’t find these eyes petrifying. It was weird, but he found them splendacious. 

It wasn’t right. It wasn’t. It was a demon, and his thoughts…

It was dangerous. 

How even could he feel something like this? This feeling…Aziraphale wasn’t able to understand it. An interest, perhaps. Right, a simple eager to know your hereditary enemy. The angel looked away, gasped, then decided to start a conversation, but…

The demon started first. Crawley, as he eventually discovered. Very witty remarks, extremely seducing manner of speaking – his voice sounded a bit low, a bit hoarse, a bit…well, no one in Heaven didn’t have such a marvelous voice. But all of that actually hardly mattered. Since…

Firstly, Aziraphale felt unfamiliarly easy. Like he didn’t need to prove anything. Crawley was the first God’s creation (a bit damned one, but still) who talked as Aziraphale was an equal. He asked questions with enthusiastic curiosity, he even listened to his replies. Of course, Crawley mocked him a little, but, well, he was a demon. The adjectives «foul» and «wily» must have been written in their job description. Perhaps, it was bad that Crawley seemed friendly and open. Angels were never like him, and they only were good to Aziraphale. Therefore, the demon Crawley was up to no good (ironically), and for Aziraphale it would better to stay away from him as much as possible.

Secondly, Aziraphale didn’t have intentions to thwart his future doings. Or to spoil their newborn acquaintance. Or to, God forbid, fight him. Crawley didn’t feel like other demons. It was safe to stand next to him and just talk. Bubble about some nonsense. Without a doubt, he was still a stranger to Aziraphale, and it would take time to know him better. The point was…He wanted to know him better. Something in his melancholic amber eyes told him that it was all right. «We are similar. We have the same problems. Let me help you». No, no, it was just his vivid imagination. Crawley would never say such a thing. He was a demon. The enemy. And he didn’t have any problems.

And…

Aziraphale scarcely remembered the last point, as the first raindrops had fallen, and instinctively he spread his milky-white wing to cover Crawley’s red coils. The rain made his face, hair, and wings wet, but the angel couldn’t help smiling proudly, having Crawley next to him.

That was too much, but Aziraphale desperately didn’t want this moment to end. He was such a fool. What would Gabriel say? Fraternizing with the demon is dangerous.

But the Higher authority didn’t have to know. It is still in blissful non-acquaintance.

Aziraphale sighs, makes the memories go away. Well, he feels guilty, even after these centuries, but God hadn’t casted him from Heaven, therefore, She doesn’t mind. Or She doesn’t know yet. The angel shudders, looks at his white chubby palms, fumbles his golden ring. How would the flaws look on his arms? Black spiky wings? Inky pupils? God dear. He shudders again. He hasn’t seen Crawley for months, but each day feels like a nightmare, especially when Gabriel, Sandalphon or Michael comes. What if they knew? What if it is simply a test? God dear, he needs to see Crawley as soon as possible. It gradually becomes insufferable. 

Aziraphale stands. The town Jericho isn’t that big (comparing with, for example, destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah or Ur), so Crawley will be easily found. He usually spends time in the city centre; therefore, the angel doesn’t have to check every provocative-looking house. Aziraphale starts to go when he hears a sound of supernatural being coming. 

God, no. 

“It’s all for my good, - assures himself Aziraphale. – They always help me to stay on our side. Yes, they can reprimand, but only if I make mistakes. And if they tell me that I will Fall…it’s only my fault”.

The angel, feeling extraordinary scared, turns to his left and sees Gabriel, grinning with all his shining teeth, dressed in a grey cloak with the hood, just like town’s beggars. Perhaps some kind of information doesn’t need to be acknowledged. Aziraphale tries to smile, but it looks more like a grimace. Oh God, why is he here? To punish him? To scold? To…

“Welcome back, the Angel of the Eastern Gate”, - says Gabriel proudly, without understanding where he is currently, pats on his shoulder. “There is an enormous amount of details for you to discuss with”.   
God, have mercy. Aziraphale shivers at the touch of his freezing palm, embarrassingly smiles.

“What brought you here, Gabriel? I thought that you were pleased with my report, but, surely, if not, I-I would do anything to…”

Gabriel wrinkles, shakes his head. He looks around, inspects passing human beings: dirty kids with burned face, plump women with curly disobedient hair, merchants with fake gold and jewelry, a shouting father, holding his daughter’s ear, a kissing pair. His face shows disgust, then he stops at Aziraphale again. By this time, the angel of the Eastern gate prayed for about seven times, wishing Gabriel to be merciful. What did he do wrong? He sent all the reports at time, never showed anger or disobedience, was constantly cheerful and calm…Aziraphale struggles to find the answer in the depth of Gabriel’s eyes, but sees only a wax mask of pleasure. It’s always unbearable to stay silent and wait for the verdict. Isn’t it a Heaven’s strategy, though? Well, it’s all for his good. If Gabriel tortures him, then the angel did something terrible.

Good God, what if they found out about Crawley and him?

Aziraphale tries to look pacified, but his chest burns like hellfire. It’s impossible. He hadn’t done anything wrong. He looked after Crawley as his enemy, prevented his wiles. Yes, they didn’t fight, yes, they had a splendid time together once or twice, but it was only because Aziraphale wanted to taste human beings’ beloved drink…how is it called, wine? Therefore, the angel wasn’t guilty in fraternizing with the enemy. He was just bored. Nothing special. What is more, Crawley certainly doesn’t pay attention to such small meetings, therefore, there is nothing to be afraid of.

Aziraphale sighs, tries to avoid Gabriel’s inspecting glance. The archangel won’t understand how monstrous it is to be alone in the whole universe, with no one to simply have fun with. The High Office, without a doubt, takes care of him, teaches, and helps choosing the right path, makes sure that he is still good and holy, but… Perhaps, he is a bad angel, but he still feels lonely. He needs something more. A friend, maybe. So humiliating of him!... He is no pathetic human. He doesn’t need “friends”. All he has to do is to serve God and The Greatest Good. He shouldn’t have some extraneous thoughts and desires. Otherwise he is no angel. “I will try, I promise”. 

The sound of Gabriel’s voice takes him away from the darkness he let himself go to, petrifies him at its abruptness. 

“I was reported that you, Aziraphale, was speaking to the prophet Elijah years ago. You wanted him to stop confronting lecherous Jezebel and lead a peaceful life away from preaching”.

Now Aziraphale wants to scream and run away, but he makes himself stay calm. Yes, he did speak to Elijah, but the poor man was in horror! Elijah deeply desired the Jews to be able to believe in their God, but he also wasn’t a fool. He knew that Jezebel wouldn’t stop worshipping Baal and Asherah, he knew she ached to see him dead, and he also wanted to live a long life – have a family, at least. And Aziraphale agreed that it was a pointless battle, even though he knew that God eventually would get what She wanted. With the death of Jezebel everything would have stopped, and Elijah didn’t have to risk his life. But no one listened to him and the prophet, and years after he was taken to Heaven by a flaming chariot. A saint to others, a lonely man to himself. Was it that necessary, after all?

“Is it true, the Angel of the Eastern Gate?”

Aziraphale almost forgot that Gabriel is still here. Remembering Elijah’s scared face, the angel takes a deep breath, calms his nerves, and says: “Yes”.

“Do you understand how dangerous it was?” – continues the archangel, looking very displeased. “The prophet could have done what you said, and the wrong faith would have spread through the cities! The faith in the Devil’s terrible creations! And you…”

“Jezebel was only an ill-tempered, deceived sinner”, - muttered Aziraphale with the unknown courage. “She needed a redemption or a quick death. The Jews would have stayed in their faith, as they are now”.

The violet eyes light with such loathing, that Aziraphale takes a step back. At first, he thinks that Gabriel will hit him…punish him. Angels are not able to hit somebody. Or feel hatred. It’s unnatural. There’s something wrong with him, it is for sure. Gabriel always does what is good for him. It is his fault in the story with Elijah. He shouldn’t question the God’s will. What is he, after all? Merely a stupid, naive angel. His job is to serve, not to think.

Aziraphale lets his head fall, looks at the brown sandy ground. Two moments more and he will burst into tears.

“Aziraphale”, - whispers Gabriel gently. He is not angry? He won’t shout at him? Joy starts to boil at Aziraphale’s traitorous heart. Oh God, let it be, he learnt his lesson, there doesn’t need to be… “You should never go against God’s Ineffable Plan. She chose Elijah to save the Jews, then it is his path. Do not interrupt humans’ doings unless they are the one who to blame. Your job is to fight the enemy, and we were pleased to hear that the demon Crawley is in the control of yours. Despite it, you disappointed me very much. I know no angel that could be so pathetic like you”. His heart falls. “We put our faith in you, Aziraphale, and you did not satisfy our expectations. I even start to question your being on Earth. Perhaps, you do not deserve to be the messenger of God’s will. What would you say if I replaced you with Michael? Or Uriel? They seem to be much more reliable than you are. Foremost, they are aware of the consequences of disobedience. What have you got to say?” 

Aziraphale shakes his head, unable to speak. Burning tears of desperation and shame run down from his eyes. Gabriel is right, he is pathetic. Ridiculous. Not good enough. The archangel utters something more, but his words escape from him. What is wrong with him? Why couldn’t he be the perfect angel? Why is he always a disappointment? He can’t even imagine how terrible it was to Heaven to hear about his doings. They all agree he does not deserve to stay on Earth, as Gabriel says. It is just a question of time, then. At the thought of losing all the Earth’s pleasures Aziraphale weeps harder, like a little child who lost his favorite toy.

“I’m so-so sorry, Gab-Gabriel. I will…”

“I hope so”.

With a clapping sound Aziraphale understand he is gone. The angel looks around, everything vague and dim. People are going, leaving him behind, as he stands alone at the burning sun with wet face. He needs a drink. Aziraphale starts to move, still sobbing and clutching his hands together. All his thoughts suddenly disappear, leaving the feeling of emptiness and detest for himself.

Pathetic.

Gabriel is right. He is always right.

He didn’t deserve such honor to take after the Earth’s citizens. If he wanted to save one soul – even so gifted and pure one – then he desired to let the innocent people suffer from their rightful religion. Jezebel wasn’t only a cunning woman with the faith in demonic idols – she was the Queen of Israel, she killed prophets of Yahweh who desired to stop her. If Elijah hadn’t asked her prophets to come at Mount Carmel and see whether their god would come and burn a bull as a sacrifice, the persecution would have continued, and the Jews wouldn’t have known which religion is the right one. No one could stop Jezebel but Elijah. Yes, he was afraid, but God saved him and now he is a Saint. Isn’t it better than to live on Earth and die when the time comes? Why did he even want to prevent Elijah from saving Israel? 

He believed God would save them all.

Aziraphale shrugs, wipes his tears. She surely has The Plan. She knows what is best. And he is…he is merely a pathetic, self-centered, mistaken angel. 

He takes a stroll around the tiny dilapidated houses, built with sun-dried bricks and a little wood. They all look alike: brown flat rooves, obscure entrances, farmyards behind with lots of sheep, goats, chickens, then dirty red faces, looking from the window, melodic and serene songs in the kitchens. Sometimes Aziraphale enjoys asking for a shelter, behaving like a foreigner, and learn about a simple life full of love. Nowadays partners are not like Adam and Eve; women are more Lilith-like, and the angel finds this paradox amusing. Undoubtedly, women rely on their husbands a lot and obey them, but they rule their houses themselves: cooking, cleaning, teaching kids, taking care of injuries, seldom even helping men on fields. Sometimes a wife can be evil towards her husband, but only if he is wrong. They argue, but always listen to their partner and respect their feelings. Of course, such happens not everywhere, but Aziraphale likes to believe it’s not. He adores people, adores their naivety and intelligence without being educated at the same time. They are kind without a second thought, they are brave and independent – a person, or an angel Aziraphale will never become. He sighs and goes further.

Near the “palace of vices”, as Crawley likes to say, there is a public house. A sound of drum music can be heard, a woman’s laughter, a kind of flirting. Someone sings out of tune. A slap on bare skin. Aziraphale purses his lips in disgust. How on Earth somebody could like going to such places? It is so vulgar and…When the angel imagines what happens there, his cheeks burn. Why can’t they have…do their dirty things with their partners? What brings sinners here? Lust? Egoism? Loneliness? He shall never understand. Someone runs from the door, a bell ringing. A woman chases him, leaves messy kisses on a neck, an ear, a corner of the eye. A man looks enchanted, lifts her by the wrist, goes back to the house. She shakes her legs in the air and giggles. Aziraphale takes a deep breath, prays to God (if She would listen to him after all) that the sinners find their path, then goes to the “palace of vices”.

Isn’t it also a sin, contemplates Aziraphale when ordering a cup of red wine. Well, it is, as many people become strangely addicted to it and even go insane after consuming the whole bottle. But he is no human. He is an angel; he knows where to stop. It should be sin as much as a simple eating. But isn’t it the same with the prostitutes? Why did he call them sinners? Maybe because tempting a human being and being tempted mustn’t happen to a rightful angel? Yes, here it goes. He is right. 

Pathetic.

Aziraphale looks at the deep wine color, half crimson, half ruby. The smell is rich, probably not as good as it was with Crawley, too sweet, grapes-like, but still charming. The angel takes a sip, sighs in pleasure. Scrumptious. He looks around: all people are loud, chattering about nonsense, he wouldn’t be like a black sheep. A right time to acknowledge the facts.

He is pathetic.

Why was he so confident about his actions? Why did he think he was able to impact people’s lives? It makes no sense. He is just an ordinary angel. What could he understand in politics and religion? Now he knows; he will never interrupt the God’s will. He is just a faithful servant. It is his destiny; it always was. 

Why does it make him feel miserable? If he is right in his conclusions, why is he crying in the cup of expensive wine?

Oh, he is even more pathetic. He doesn’t feel sorrowful because of the Jews, he doesn’t pity Elijah or hate Jezebel. He weeps because he feels sorry for himself. For not being chosen, for not being respected. Who is he, after all, to deserve such praise? An ordinary disobedient angel. An egoistic one. Aziraphale remembers disillusionment in Gabriel’s facial expression and feels even more miserable. Now the archangel won’t trust him. Won’t respect. Oh, how will he come to the office? How will he bear the contempt in angels’ eyes? It’s terrible. He takes another sip, clean his face from nasty tears, feels sorry for it immediately. Let him be the dirty creation he is. 

God, is it possible to detest myself more?

Aziraphale finishes the cup at the time someone new comes to the building. The door slaps, and steadily steps towards him are heard. God, not Michael or Gabriel again. He has no powers to clean the mess he is. The angel looks at the empty cup, already feeling a bit dizzy, and finds similarities to his existence. Pointless. Nasty. Only an illusion of living. He lets a muted cry.

“Hi, Aziraphale. Long time no see. Didn’t expected to see you here though but…”

The angel turns to his right and finally sees someone who might be not-so-angry-with-him. Crawley. The enemy. Looking charming in coal black as always…wait, wrong word...odious…here we go. Long flaming hair is shaking at the wind, like a burning candle, yellow serpentine eyes look open and reliable. Oh, it would be nice just to sit in his arms, play with little braids near the forehead…oh god, he is very drunk. He just missed Crawley so much. He is the only creation who doesn’t scold him constantly and at least pretends to listen. Unintentionally he grins widely, welcomes Crawley, but when the demon sits next to him, Aziraphale burst into tears.

Pathetic.

“What the hell happened to you?” – growls Crawley, lifting a hand to order a drink. “Two cups of wine, faster”.

“I have already drunk too much, there is no need…”

“I see”, - sarcastically replies Crawley. “The consequences are visible”.

“I had no other variants!” – cries Aziraphale, without understanding what he is doing. He certainly wants to hurt him, but his tongue decides the opposite. “I was hurt by Gabriel. He scolded me”.

“Should I feel sorry? Isn’t he, like, your boss?”

“I know you wouldn’t understand”.

What did he expect? That Crawley would pity him? He is a demon, the enemy. He knows nothing of good. He is pure evil. Aziraphale sighs, drops his head to the table, weeps. He is so alone, so alone…He is abandoned by everyone, and no one wants to give a hand of hope. Of course, who would.

Pathetic.

“Here, drink”, - the demon moves the cup to him. “And, when you feel ready, I’m here. I don’t know what happened, but I know Gabe can be an asshole”.

Unintentionally Aziraphale giggles, takes a sip. Crawley is always like this. Offensive, immoral, but he is always here for him. Always know how to cheer up. And this is exactly what he needs now, no matter how destructive it can be to his divine nature. After all, he is not so pure, as it can be seen through his doings, then the society of a demon will be all right. 

He merely shouldn’t let Crawley become his friend. That’s it. 

“Don’t call him like that”, - protest Aziraphale, without tenacity. “He is the archangel”.

“And? Don’t you think that the Higher Ones are always right?”

“This is what I think”.

“You’re mistaken”.

“I am not”.

“You are”.

“Begone, foul field”.

Suddenly the color starts to come back to the angel’s cheeks. He doesn’t feel so down like before. So comfortable. Oh, if only the story with the Elijah didn’t happen at all! At the thought of it his smile fades. Crawley’s does too. The demon leans closer, inspecting him with the warm light of his eyes, and somehow Aziraphale feels agitated. The noise of the people strangely disappears. All Aziraphale can hear is the blood rushing in his ears. The demon’s face is so close now that the angel can easily find all the brown freckles on a bit dark skin. The lips are hissing something, but Aziraphale can’t find out what exactly. He is hypnotized by this face. How strange…It is surely because of alcohol. A sin, surely. 

“Angel, do you even listen?”

Aziraphale blinks, squints while turning his gaze to the emerald-green plants near the window on the opposite wall. A pot of monsteras, perhaps, or is it ivies? He can’t tell them apart. Someone is dying of laughter in the back, demanding more alcohol. “I do”. He looks at the Crawley a bit uneasily, as if he did something monstrous. The demon’s eyes do a kind of magic to him. He should feel frightened or full of rage, but the angel simply gets gawkier.

“Then what happened between you and not-asshole-Gabriel? Why were you sobbing alone in the drinking home just like a heartbroken girl?”

“I’m not a…”

“A metaphor. This is called a metaphor”.

Aziraphale sighs, turns away from Crawley. How can he express all his sorrows by words? Frankly speaking, he is able to describe the whole depth of his feelings: fear, woe, detest, loneliness, but likely it will be redundant for Crawley to hear. He is a demon after all, and he can, he ought to use Aziraphale’s weaknesses against him. It is too much for the angel now to process how Crawley can use his hatred against him, so he closes his eyes, imagines his fight, but instead of biting him the demon mocks and plays the ape around him, weirdly dancing. Aziraphale giggles, but soon feels more down than before. He shall never be optimistic again after this failure!... Who let him choose Elijah’s destiny?

Pathetic.

“Angel, are you going to weep again?”

Aziraphale looks at him, his eyes unconditionally wet. “No. I simply…simply wanted to say…”

How could you be capable of crying in front of the other angels? I did not understand you were this miserable, Aziraphale. It is a human quirk to have, do you understand?... Of course, you do not. Goodness, I am so ashamed of you. 

Gabriel’s abrupt voice seems so real, much more real than everything in the world, and when the angel understands he will live with this shame, his tears begin to leak. Aziraphale angrily starts to wipe his cheeks, but tears don’t end. It’s insufferable to sit near the enemy and fall apart like…like a pathetic human. No, humans are better than him, at least they don’t pretend to be something more powerful and angelic. 

“Angel, stop. I’m not going to eat you. Look at me”.

Why is he even calling him “angel”? Another sort of insulting? Aziraphale obediently turns his face to Crawley’s, finds his eyes more snakelike, more obstinate, as if he is furious with him. This sight is also terrible, and the angel sobs.

“Okay, okay, don’t look at me if you’re afraid. Look at the red-hot slut sitting in a few tables from ou…from the place you sit and tell me what the hell happened”.

Aziraphale wants to resent at the rude words but focuses on a woman. She drinks from the bottle, eating something plum-like and cackles with the girls nearby. Her dress is torn apart, her eyes are wide and black with ink, as she outlived the Great Flood, but in her own life. She is obviously having not the best day of her life, but she still stays strong – at least for her friends. The angel sighs, but at the same time he feels free to speak. Nothing more is holding his chest with the burning iron gloves. 

“Do you…” Good. He starts again, looks sideways to the demon. “Have you ever heard about the scandal with prophet Elijah?”

Crawley positions his arm by elbow on the table, leans on it, his cheek cupped in the palm, fiery curls are falling from it. His eyes blink in a drunk desire to remember someone named Elijah. Aziraphale is surprised to find more than one empty clay cup around him, because he certainly knows Crawley hasn’t ordered more wine. A demonic magic, what’s there to say.

“Errr, I ‘now that my boss asked me ‘bout that one day, but I didn’t do a thing. You ‘now angel, not all the influencers in the whole universe are demon-like, so if Gabe terrorized you because of me advise him to very f – “

“Crawley, please, there’s no need for that kind of language”, - sighs the angel. “It was me who tried to prevent Elijah from confronting queen Jezebel and her king. The prophet was much holier that I and refused, even though he undoubtedly desired to end his life more peacefully, but Gabriel was still furious with me when he had found out. It was terrible, and from then I feel like I am nothing. No good angel. I shouldn’t have felt about the prophet how I felt and even if I did – “

The demon’s eyes are becoming wider and wider, and Aziraphale bets he can discern the deep green dots on the iris of his eyes. It’s weird that he has never seen it before. Or do the Crawley’s eyes change because of his emotions? Well, it is indeed fascinating, even beautiful, but these eyes are made for harm and temptation. He ought to never forget about that. Crawley is no good, nevertheless there isn’t someone else nearby to help. 

“You tried to tempt Elijah by telling him fables about peace in the woods, am I right?”

“You put it in the incorrect way! – exclaims Aziraphale, trying not to giggle at the burst of Crawley’s laughter. – Well, maybe yes, and this is monstrous. I failed. I didn’t save Elijah, and Gabriel is still angry. And, what is more important, I was blind to the truth what is unacceptable for angels”. 

“But you had your lesson, no need to blame yourself”.

Did he? It is rather worthless to assume Aziraphale will listen to the advice. He constantly gets everything too close to heart, always struggling to find the best decision, always fails and always thinks it is his fault. It has always been like this, as he can remember. Even when others don’t pay much attention, the angel blame himself like he committed the hardest crime ever existed. He can’t exist properly; he can’t even think about something else – the consequences of his misdemeanor are visible and dim his sight. He remembers accusing himself of the escaped female unicorn from Noah’s ark, so the other one died without having posterity; it wasn’t his fault, he can’t control animals’ will, but he felt miserable. And now it isn’t a simple wrongdoing – the Higher Office is discontented with his behavior, he almost let people suffer and die, and he won’t get away with it so easily.

They sit in silence for a few seconds, people are loudly screaming and laughing at the back. Oh, if only he led such idle life!... No sense, no failed hopes, just sins. The angel knows that isn’t exactly what he thinks he deserve, but a vast amount of alcohol and tears made its evil doings. 

“Wait, angel, you said that Elijah was scared of what that fanatic queen could do?”

“Yes, because she worshipped Baal and Astarte and detested the rightful Yahweh”. Saying the same names over and over again made Aziraphale wanting to cry. He is so tired, so exhausted; all he wants is to be left alone. Or, well, sit with Crawley in silence or chatter about nonsense. 

“Firstly, if Elijah wanted to end it peacefully, why God didn’t send, like, a lighting to kill Jezebel? Secondly, why is Yahweh a good god and the goddess of love is terrifying? I agree that Baal was…a bit too demonic, but Ashtaroth is no harm”.

Aziraphale opens his mouth in shock. “These are your doings! You made Jezebel believe in wrong idols!”

Crawley shrugs his shoulders, though glancing very gingerly. “I only did my job and you didn’t answer my questions”.

The angel bits his lip, looking at Crawley as he was an incorporeal spirit, looking through him, returning to that day, that burning sun, that clay ground and Elijah. He remembered the received order: take care of the prophet, don’t let the faith in Yahweh disappear. Well, Yahweh is just another name for the God Herself, so the Jews and the rest of the world should have chosen the faith in Him, but he never asked himself why was Ashtaroth unrighteous. Oh, God dear, what a shame to even assume things like that, God contains in Herself all these despicable gods and goddesses of love, war, sea, sky and etcetera. Jezebel was, of course, wrong. But then Aziraphale thinks again. Does the non-frenetic faith in different gods and goddesses do harm? In the end, everything gets to the Divine Beginning, which should be the same as God. Perhaps, the Higher Authority is too radical and intolerant? 

And why didn’t God help Elijah with getting rid of Jezebel? A lighting or a pillar of hellfire would be all right. Everyone would understand what happens with heretics and sinners, and Elijah would finish his doings on Earth. He could have done more miracles and ascend to Heaven later and more glorious. 

Something strikes Aziraphale, and he returns to the messy drinking house, looking straightly at Crawley’s worried face. He is indeed clever, has adorable little red braids and is a fantastic companion, but he is a demon, a demon with burning yellow eyes and snakelike hissing. This is what he could become after thinking or going against the God’s will. He questioned Her doings in his thoughts. She will know one day, sooner or later. And he will Fall.

This should stop. This – this absurd meeting and discussing himself and his sorrows with a cup of fine wine. Vanity, debauchery, libertinism, fraternizing with a demon. He won’t last long like this. Aziraphale desperately wants to tell Crawley how he feels, discuss it again and decide something together, but he stops himself. He is here to fight the enemy, not to drink and laugh with him. And…  
And it means Crawley and him shall never see each other again for his sake. 

“God is always right, and I am merely a fool, that’s it! – abruptly cries the angel, throwing his cup and watching it fall into pieces. – And I shouldn’t see you ever again, because angels and demons can’t communicate without fighting! It’s unnatural! It’s a sin! – he barely thought about other people listening, all he can see is the strained figure of the demon. – You were trying to influence me in Hell’s interests, and – “

Crawley stands, looking very offended. “Lies. Never meant to do harm but suppose it’s in my nature. Should I say goodbye then?”

Everything swims before Aziraphale’s eyes, and he sobs. He is being too rude, Crawley wanted to help, it’s not his fault…

Pathetic. 

You will Fall.

“Angel, is everything alright?”

He senses the serene, light touch of the demon’s cold fingertips, and feels the strange urge to tell everything, to tell his real opinion about Elijah and Jezebel, to discuss feeling uneasy in Heaven, but understands it’s worthless. It’s something wrong with him, not with Heaven. Gabriel is right.

“Please, leave me alone”.

And so he does. With a clap Aziraphale understands he is gone. He turns around, finds people strangely being uninterrupted and cheerful and drunk as before. The noises distract him, and the angel lets his head fall again on the table, breathing hard and weeping.

He made a right decision, as angels ought never be corrupted by demons. Even if Crawley seems quite pleasant and benevolent, it’s just a trick, in the end he would find himself under Hell’s control. He should never forget it. He should serve God undoubtedly.

But why does it feel like a terrible mistake?

***

It’s been years after their quarrel. Even centuries, perhaps. Aziraphale changed cities and countries as nobility changes their purple chitons from country named Phoenica…Phoenicia. He moved barefoot, sometimes wearing sandals as lonely travelers did. Of course, the angel did his blessings, but never made close contacts or whatever humans call it like. He barely had time to breathe normally, like humans do, - he made sure there were no spare seconds of his existence. It was dangerous to think even. He was afraid to acknowledge the fact that his sanctity was in the past.

Whenever Gabriel or Sandalphon came with orders, Aziraphale shivered and thought that this was the end, that they knew about him and Crawley (had it really happened hundreds of years ago, or just one day?). He imagined burning in sulfur, begging for mercy, and not receiving anything but sufferings. Angels were told what it’s like to Fall in colors: a sudden pain as if everything in you starts to crumble, then a feeling of burning, thousands time greater than after injuries made by hellfire from demons’ flaws, writhing in agony, remembering all your sins, crying miserably, and after a huge amount of time standing up, looking at your crooked nature and screaming into the wasteland. Aziraphale is too sensitive, perhaps, but he remembered every single word they said. Imagining such terrors happening to his body was monstrous, still the angel got used to this thought. It was like knowing you have to visit a boring man named Jacob and wrestle with him until the sunrise and try to keep calm as he begs for being blessed – insufferably woeful, but there’s nothing to do with it, this is the truth and you’ll have to live with it. One day Aziraphale suddenly understood he received pleasure from thinking about the Fall – not because of the pain, he surely wasn’t a masochist, but because when he become a demon with crooked inky wings and unconscious blind eyes, he would be able to see Crawley everywhere. He would have the ability to be the disastrous creature he was. Yes, the angel knew that being a demon wasn’t exactly what he wanted from life, but he was doomed. “Just relax and enjoy”, as humans say. 

It was unbelievably weird, but no one came to take him to Hell. 

What was worse, he started to miss Crawley so much that it was like falling on a sharp blade with bare chest (and it isn’t a metaphor).

Aziraphale sighs – a bad habit, but he used to do it quite much, - looks around, breathes the smell of oatmeal bread. It’s soft, enshrouding, sweet and returns him to the times when he wasn’t running away. He almost feels the cooling, gentle touch of the fingertips, a greeting, a taste of wine on the tongue, a cozy chat under the glorious, curly emerald lindens. Oh, it would be so nice to see him once more… The angel awkwardly embraces himself, makes the stupid thoughts go away. He’s made his mind. Though meetings with Crawley were fairly…entertaining, he would never consider him a sort of friend. It was too dangerous for him. And…too stupid. Crawley never wanted to be “friends” with him. It was good that he finally escaped from his charms. This part of his life has surely ended.

A woman with a kind grin calls her husband to go home, he obeys, leaves his gardenwork and returns to her, gently holding her wrist. They both look so precious and pleased, no matter how grey her hair is and how many wrinkles can be seen on his face. Children are laughing in the house, chickens are running nearby, the smell of the bread gradually becoming burned and suffocating, but spouses only see each other. Perhaps, this is a result of their short lives? Or was it Her gift to abandoned Adam and Eve and their descendants: You are alone, but You have each other? Aziraphale desperately wants to find the answer that hides behind the facade of this old house surrounded by tall apple and lemon trees. Its smell is no linden-like, but also quite pleasant. Whatever happens, the evergreen nature won’t stop to fascinate him. It won’t ask from him more than he could possibly give.

Is there any hope for him to be happy? To have a family, even? Oh God, it’s surely the heat that makes him think about such nonsense. The angel touches his forehead and finds it hot but doesn’t move. Thoughts are fluffy pastel clouds, flying idly and melting when collide; they are easily born and easily forgotten. Just like humans, really. Their existence is approximately a half of the century; if a person is brave and honest, then it’s about thirty-five years or even less. Though they live it so fast, so eventful and passionate. Take a woman for example (Aziraphale pities women much more than men – they are so fragile and yet so strong): married at twelve, a brood of children at eighteen, always doing housework or (more commonly, and) sowing in the fields, always faithful and religious, a death in the early thirties. The angel will never understand how they don’t get confused at that speed. Perhaps, it’s purely an adaptation to the short life. And then people just fade in the darkness, unknown and alone. Isn’t it a tragedy? Having no chance seeing all your grandkids born and raised, leaving nothing behind, not a sign for future generation to remember… Though, at least, they have no time for wasting a single second. They live for love, they fight for happiness, they make the same mistakes as their parents, but it’s theirs, and Aziraphale finds humans’ life enchanting. He would sell everything to forget the Divine plan, to be free and cherished. Oh, he’s a fool. He’s already free. Angels are the higher form of life. He should be proud to be God’s chosen. He should be proud to stay on Earth and protect tiny little humans. They would never understand the greatness of being immortal. And he is, he is proud, he wants to scream it to the sky. “I am proud to be an angel, I am pure, I will be even better, just give me another chance!”

Strangely these two thoughts co-existed in his mind quite peacefully, and the angel doesn’t find anything controversial about it. 

He breaths in, wrinkles at the smell of burned dough, turns his face towards light, warm wind, closes his eyes. Once perfectly cut curls are gone long and disheveled, no more fair but white because of the sun. Aziraphale could just miracle them short again, but he likes to pretend being a traveler. When he gets to Sumerian towns or to the Egyptian ones, everyone asks him where he is from because of the non-ordinary appearance. Once he was referred to as “an ideal man with marble skin, sapphire eyes and peculiar accent”, which made Aziraphale blush. He never found himself especially handsome, so, perhaps, they were just mocking him. Though he really made an accent of a foreigner and sometimes faked misunderstanding of the word, no matter that he knew all human languages by heart, just when they start to form, as well as their Divine one and demonic dialect. It was just so much fun, that Aziraphale couldn’t resist. Fun was unknown to him lately.

He tries to cheer himself up, smiles so hard his cheeks hurt. The sun is blinding him. Oh, how precious are people in Egypt! Their language does sound like throaty hissing at times, they are so bronze-skinned and looking like a statue, they work all time creating these weird monuments- pyramids, they don’t drink wine, instead they have something that smells like oatmeal and called beer, they study starts, planets and mathematics (the angel almost got to meet a famous scientist, but he fell sick or was just making excuses)… Travelling was a big joy to him. Everything fascinates him, everyone is so kind and hospitable, but soon Aziraphale starts to understand that all things repeat itself and make him bored. It is weird, but it is true. The angel sighs and looks around again. No need to play or feign happiness. All he wants is to return to the small cities. He is tired of the society and tired of being alone, no matter how strange it sounds. Oh, if only he had a real home… 

But he won’t. He is an angel; his home is Heaven. His world is Heaven. And the Earth tires him because he feels he doesn’t belong here. Maybe, it’s better to return home?

The word paperwork strikes him, and the angel makes a disgusted face. If he returns, he will be buried in papers. No, it’s better to find his path on Earth. Moreover, his current job is to protect humans, not to run away from them as a coddle who doesn’t want to make his hands dirty. Perhaps, he just should go to the nature? There he would be able to think about his ambitions and relax. That seems a good idea. He imagines the rustle of leaves, the divine sound in the forest, the ability to breath with full chest (like a human). Oh, he will be able to make wreaths again, like in Eden! He grins like a little child.

Aziraphale stands, cleans his clothes from sand and snaps his fingers. He has no time for the human-like trip. Surprisingly, he finds himself in the middle of the town he has last met Crawley. Everything seems not to be changed by the cruel time: the same trees of oleander with pretty rose flowers, the same merchants selling their goods, the same prostitutes offering their lecherous bodies, the same music of voices and birds. The angel breathes in, decides to go to the forest at the outskirts, when he hears a familiar hoarse tone, almost hissing, that makes him so dizzy and scared at the same time.

“Angel?”

No. Not him. He’s made his mind. Aziraphale shivers as a doomed prey, starts to move fast in order to get lost in the city’s streets. The forest, the trees, the wreaths. He’s just taking a stroll, just wants to…

“Angel!”

Aziraphale almost runs into the counter with fresh vegetables, maneuvering around the people and street animals. He knows he acts weird, but something tells him to stay away from Crawley. After the main square there is citizens’ houses, and the angel steps in their shadow, then going to the marvelously green trees, lindens, perhaps, stands near the trunk and breathes unsteadily. It seems ridiculous. Why is he running away? From whom? From Crawley, who has never done him any bad? Because of the fear?

The fear of the Fall is like a viper – it poisons everything precious in his life. He’s always afraid of something, probably doing the right thing, but now it doesn’t seem so. All his nature cries, shouts, begs to finally talk with Crawley. He is like a field with sunflowers that were covered by the clouds too long. The metaphor came to his mind too soon, and when Aziraphale understands that it’s indecent, he blushes to his thoughts. Crawley is merely a creation to talk to, and nowadays he is being so lonely, so hopeless… The angel wants to go away from the tree but stops.

He shouldn’t communicate with a demon. God knows what the other side made Crawley do. Aziraphale’s sure his job is to tempt him. And the decision to stay away was the good one, but now he doubted that. Something in him doesn’t let him to draw a line between him and Crawley.

He can’t describe it but is really seems like Crawley is not like other demons. He is not greedy, cruel, and up for no good, though sometimes his mocking is almost insufferable. The angel remembers his striking yellow eyes, the sadness in them when he neglected his help. He was surely alone too. And it’s a blasphemy but they have a lot in common. Well…

…nobody said he couldn’t pretend to be friends with demon and secretly thwart his wiles. 

Nobody said he couldn’t pretend to thwart his wiles.

Something cracked in him – a purity, perhaps – but right now Aziraphale knows what he wants. For the first time in so many months his eyes are full of life. He wants to laugh because he’s finally making his own decisions. Perhaps, they are wrong, doomed, and terrible, perhaps, this will cause so many troubles in the near future, but, at least, they are his own. The angel takes a step from the shadows and catch the glimpse of caressing sun.

And when Crawley calls him again, he finally responds.

“Crawley!” He is almost smiling of pleasure of pronouncing this so much well-known name. 

The demon appears suddenly, looking very worried. His hair is so messy that Aziraphale wants to cut it a little bit, his charcoal clothes are in poor condition, his neck is in scars of…God, is it kisses? How disgusting. 

“What made you change your mind? – wonders Crawley, looking very offended. – ’ve no wish to run after you, angel”.

Aziraphale blushes. Immoral as always. “It wasn’t my fault even! I merely…merely had troubles, - he looks at Crawley, feels the strange urge to tell him everything at once. – Listen, I know you have no wish to fraternize with me, but I would really like to, but… I was afraid that I would Fall. That time, after Gabriel scolded me, I thought they knew everything about us. Yes, I assure you that there’s nothing between us, but I was too scared! I don’t want to Fall because of…because of…mhn…having a pleasant conversation with you. I’m so, so sorry about offending you… I was alone and confused. I’m utterly sorry and will understand if you don’t want to see me again. Though the only…the only thing now that matters to me is how to make amends for my monstrous behavior”.

Crawley looks at him and doesn’t move. His hands are crossed, he tries to pretend to be still, but his eyes betray him. They are flouncing about, try not to meet his gaze, but when they do Aziraphale understands he’s forgiven. There’s relief and a bit of glee. Something strange for a demon, but he doesn’t complain. They both smile and awkwardly try to get rid of this expression. 

“Hell, angel, I’m not mad at all, I understand you were…err, confused, but, just to let you know, I’m always here to help you to deal with Gabe’s quirks or even your fears. I’m a demon, I’ve got nothing to be afraid of, you ‘now”. Aziraphale lets a chuckle. “About the Fall…I surely don’t think “having a pleasant conversation” with me will make you Fall. You gave the first humans the flaming sword and still remained an angel, can you believe it? You might be Her favorite”. 

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so naive!”

But Aziraphale understands it’s settled now. No more running away, no more lies. Crawley tells him something, but the angel doesn’t listen. He’s studying his precious curls, his freckles, even his little crimson-red flushes. And he knows everything’s going to be alright.

“Let’s drink, angel. And then I’ll tell you about the crazy Greeks. Did you know that they invented maps only a month ago? Kids grow so fast, especially if they’re not ours, right?”

“What? Oh, my journey would have been so much easier…”

“Wait, did you have a travel? You pervert!”

The sun is shining bright, lightening the newborn humanity. There is an extremely long path in the future. There’ll be sorrows, insults, joys, new knowledge and, of course, progress in understanding the world, yourself and the closest one. Nobody said it’s going to be easy, but it’ll be worth it. 

Be comforted, dear soul! There is always light behind the clouds.


End file.
